


The Dreams Where You Fall

by nagia



Series: O Tower Not Ivory [4]
Category: Dragon Age 2
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-03-22
Updated: 2011-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-17 06:43:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagia/pseuds/nagia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They built this city on rock and roll. And now it's crumbling in the face of heathens, fanatics, and serial killers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the black powder clung

For this part of the tale, Varric is his own primary source. He remembers Javaris, the slippery weasel, all too well. He remembers the slow stride of the Arishok, the way the man seemed to perch, like a predator, even as he sat on his throne.

The Arishok had been a mountain, ready with a rockfall. Waiting for any excuse to crush them, Varric had thought at the time.

He looks into the face of the Seeker and isn't sure if he'll tell her what he remembers.

"You want to know where her dealings with the Qunari started? This is the beginning," he stalls.

Cassandra folds her arms across her chest.

He chuckles. "Got to respect a woman who knows what she wants."

"Get to the point, dwarf. I came here for answers."

* * *

Addelaide Hawke walked into the Qunari compound with an even, deliberate pace. He was half-sure she moved the way she did to keep her staff from smacking her in the knees, but it could just as easily have been Hawke being Hawke.

Fenris prowled at her heel. The elf seemed not in the least disturbed by the presence of so many Qunari in one place. Which struck Varric as a little strange; Fenris had been all but paranoid in what time they'd known each other.

Hawke stopped exactly at the dwarf's right hand. Automatically, she rested a hand on one hip. In the smuggler's leathers, with her staff gleaming over her shoulder, he had to admit it was probably exactly the right image.

"And here's my right hand. Summon your Arishok. Our bargain is done."

One of the Qunari atop the dais sighed, but then the Arishok stepped out from one of the buildings.

Qunari were huge, even compard to humans, who were tall enough. The Arishok wasn't huge.

The Arishok was massive. Larger than life. The easy, dangerous grace with which he moved, with which he seated himself, commanded respect. He might not be turning into some sort of lyrium-fuelled ghost, but he probably wouldn't _need_ lyrium to introduce someone to the contents of her ribcage.

Varric began to wonder if this had maybe been a bad idea.

Fenris said something. Varric had no idea what any of it was, beyond Qunari. There was certainly no guessing what it meant, but apparently hearing the words, "Anaan essam Qun," calmed the rest of the Qunari down.

The Arishok looked long and hard at them. "The Qun from an elf? The madness of this... place."

Hawke twisted to peer over her shoulder. Her eyes glinted. "Friend of yours?"

"Friend of no one," Fenris snapped.

"Right. Well. That said, your hated Tal-Vashoth have been slain one and all. Right? Yes, they were. So we're ready to open the negotiations now. For the explosive powder. As agreed."

The Arishok didn't even pause to consider. Slowly, smoothly, as deliberately as Hawke's stride had been, he said, "No."

Javaris turned to Hawke. "He's not getting it. Make your chatty elf say something else."

Hawke's fists clenched. The fingerless gloves creaked. Still, she turned her head. "Fenris? Any insight that would be helpful?"

Fenris waited a moment. His gaze dropped to the clenched fists, but it was just a flicker and then he was looking at the Arishok. "The Qunari do not abandon a debt. I humbly request clarification from the Arishok."

"I have a growing lack of disgust for you," the Arishok rumbled. "The merchant imagined the deal for the gaatlok. He invented a task to prove his worth when he has none."

Fenris bowed his head. "I see. Then we have wrongly inserted ourselves in your affairs. Would you have us kill this dwarf?"

That got Javaris's attention.

The Arishok talked over the merchant's protests: "If you have faced Tal-Vashoth, he is not worthy of dying to you. As he was not worthy of dying to them."

There was a pause. Hawke seemed willing to let Fenris speak for her, while Fenris... seemed to be waiting for further explanation? Further instructions?

All of this bore watching.

"But you..." The Arishok said at last, this time to Hawke. "You keep good company. Let him live. And leave."

"Javaris, you may want to take this opportunity to go." The dark amusement in her tone added an unspoken _You might not get another._

"But it's a product. People want it; you have to sell!"

That sounded uncomfortably like something Bartrand would have said. And that put Varric back on edge. Maker's breath, did no one in this town understand self-preservation? When a spear-carrying mystery three times your size said leave, you _left_.

"There is no profit in empowering those not of the Qun. The means of creating the gaatlok is ours alone. It shall be dispensed only to our enemies, in the traditional manner."

There was a hiss as Fenris drew in a breath. In the same moment, Hawke stifled a chuckle.

Even Varric had to smile a little at that one. A Qunari — _the_ Qunari, at large and in charge — making a joke? What was the world coming to?

* * *

"I don't care about your Arishok and his sense of humor," Cassandra snaps.

Varric can only laugh. "You should, considering Hawke's claim to fame."

"His sense of humor is irrelevant."

"I'd say it's very relevant. Establishes that the Arishok was nuts from the start, even by Qunari standards."

That earns him the fiercest scowl he's seen since she hit him with the book.

"And the other matters?"

He can see in her face just where she's going with that. And it's the last thing he wants to talk about. Bianca might be the only story he's oathsworn not to tell, but he doesn't want to go into the horrors that Quentin inflicted, or the fiasco in the Fade.

Even if they would help the Seeker make sense of Hawke.

" _Those_ are irrelevant. And besides, I've only got secondhand stories for those."

"I'm sure they're from good sources."

This woman could make an invitation to tea sound vaguely menacing, he swears.

* * *

I could tell you why, but I don't know  
It's simple and so complicated  
I could walk all day on the railroad tracks  
But there's much more to it than that

—Mirah, "Sweepstakes Prize"


	2. courtesy and grace

The first thing that always caught Adder's attention about the Viscount's office was the windows. Not the books, the decadent-looking upholstery, the desk strewn with papers — the desk that could be hers, easily, if she wanted it, if she worked at it — but the windows.

Sunlight streamed in through them. She could taste sky through the glass, even across the room.

The Keep was a good place to work Elemental magic.

"—not meant to permanent," Seneschal Bran was saying. "There are concerns the Qunari influence is... no longer contained."

Adder fought to keep from snorting. Contained? It hadn't been contained in three years, if it ever had. Just thinking of Saemus proved that!

The Viscount shook his head. "Was it ever? Kirkwall has tension enough between Templar and mage, but these Qunari..."

Adder half-tuned him out. City was a tinderbox, the Qunari were driving everyone crazy, they danced on the edge of the abyss. She'd heard it all before.

"Nearly four years I have stood between fanatics!" The Viscout actually sounded ready to tear out his hair, if he'd had any. "And now this."

Adder rolled her eyes. "Don't keep us in suspense."

But Marlowe Dumar was on a roll: "Meredith at my throat, Orsino at my heels, and a city running scared of heretical giants."

Adder closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and did not start listing the ways in which he could settle the Meredith/Orsino dispute once and for all. She also didn't threaten to lose patience and shove her staff where he really didn't want it. That last took great restraint; the first only took thinking about Anders.

"Balance has held because the Qunari ask for nothing. Even the space in Lowtown was a gift to contain them."

She filed that away. We don't like you, we don't want you roaming around our city, you heretical giants you... so have a nasty, fish-smelling compound right by the ocean? Made sense, if a terrible sort.

Dumar finally looked over at her. He finally stopped pacing, too, which was nice. The man was wound tight as one of Bianca's strings.

"But now the Arishok has requested you." Dumar paused to let that sink in. "By name. What have you done to gain such influence above your station?"

Adder looked inward for a moment. Better to taste the sunlight and the sky, to feel the potential to transfigure one so she could pull lightning lightning from the other. Far better to do that than point out that she was probably the only human who'd _bothered_ with the Qunari in the past almost-four years.

She shrugged. "I can't help it if I make an impression."

* * *

That had her sent from the room with the instruction to "give the Arishok what he needs to keep the peace." Peace-keeping sounded more like Aveline's job than her own.

But there was no denying the Viscount. Not without even more money and position to hide behind. Her mother was a rich and returned Amell, but Adder was simply a well-to-do Fereldan refugee.

She couldn't afford to keep any illusions about her station.

Speaking of station! If she was going to speak to the Arishok she'd need people. Fenris had been helpful the last time she'd dealt with the Qunari. But then, taking him along was a given.

He'd been there, in the Deep Roads. Seen her at her worst. And he'd stayed.

But who else could... Aveline. Peace-keeping was her job, after all.

Adder veered away from the great doors, turning sharply back the way she'd come.

She was lucky enough to find Aveline in her office. She was unlucky enough to find Aveline in her office, arguing with one of her guardsmen.

Adder leaned against the door, listening in. Whatever it was, Seneschal Bran had his smallclothes in a twist about it. Then again, when didn't Seneschal Bran have his smallclothes in a twist?

* * *

"And here's where we come to the problem with second-hand sources," Varric sighs. "I don't know exactly what was said. I know they didn't argue. I know they were friendly enough that Aveline offered her something else, later."

Cassandra raises an eyebrow.

"Not like that, Seeker. A... case, I guess you'd call it. Aveline called it work, but Hawke never thought of it like that."

"She never saw herself as employed?"

Varric snorts. "She was stinking rich and Aveline was a friend. Hell, Aveline was an honorary Hawke. She saw it as a favor, if anything."

"What _can_ you tell me about that conversation, then?"

Ah, rapid topic switchbacks; another thing he loves about the Seeker. He's pretty sure this is how she makes sure people tell the truth.

"I know she and Adder discussed the difficulties of guarding this fool city from itself. And I know Aveline tried to requisition a Templar."

Cassandra makes a horrified noise. It doesn't surprise Varric; Aveline was right about the Chantry being too busy babysitting eternity to aid the people. Probably the reason neither Aveline nor Hawke ever had much use for it.

Well, Hawke made it a point not to set foot in any Chantry she didn't have to. Her life depended on it.

"Yes, terrible, I know. But Aveline thought it was a good idea at the time. It might even have been. Nothing ever came of it, though."

"Next?"

Varric shook his head. "Hawke got us all together and met with the Arishok."

"You were with them?"

"I was there for every meeting in the Compound, except the last. We were her go-to people, you see. After Carver."

"Then tell me what happened next."

* * *

Hawke walked into the Qunari compound. She walked slowly, deliberately, with her head held high. Her pride wouldn't let her do otherwise.

What pride she had left, anyway.

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The Arishok was already on his throne. She'd kept him waiting, apparently.

"Serah Hawke."

"Yes?" She couldn't keep the smile away, inadvisable as smiling around the Arishok probably was.

Behind her, Fenris's breath hissed. She snuck a look back at him, but he was expressionless. Whatever warning he'd been about to give, he'd decided against it.

The Arishok ignored her smile, her distraction. "Last we met, I did not know your name. Did not care to."

This would be a bad place to make a joke.

The Arishok talked over any joke she might have made: "You have changed your fortune over the years. The Qunari have not."

After three years, their ship still hadn't come in? It was just begging for a pun. She kept quiet. The Arishok might have shown a sense of humor, before, but he didn't seem in high spirits today.

"I offer a courtsey, Hawke. Someone has stolen what he thinks is the formula for gaatlok. You will want to hunt him."

Well, that explained the bad mood. "Excuse me, but this sounds like quite the feat."

Fenris drew in a sharp breath again. The tattoos pulsed once, as if he expected the Arishok to order a rain of spears. One did not compliment the Qunari's enemies or annoyances to the Arishok's face.

Silence from the dais. Loud, weighty, terrifying silence. Adder wondered just how badly she'd stepped in it.

The Arishok held his tongue until just after she thought the quiet would cut.

"It was allowed," he growled. "The stolen formula was a decoy. Saar-qamek — a poison gas, not explosives."

Allowed. She'd thought this was funny, the Qunari unable to protect their own resources. She'd thought this was sad, the Qunari forced into a horrible-smelling seaside ramble of shacks.

But they'd _allowed_ the recipe for a poison gas to be stolen, probably by some idiot.

She opened her mouth. Behind her, she could hear Aveline's plate mail clink as the guard captain stood up straighter. Seemed they both wanted to give this man a talking-to.

But the Arishok went on talking. "A small amount is dangerous enough to your kind. But if made in quantity, perhaps by someone intending to sell it..."

"That merchant!" She turned to Varric.

"Javaris," he supplied.

"Would he be cautious, or would he assume success and make enough to threaten a district?"

A frightening question. One she knew the dismaying answer to. Whatever the Qunari's fault in this, she had to find Javaris.

"A courtesy, Hawke," the Arishok said, smooth as butter. "You will want to hunt him."

Hunt him? She'd do more than hunt him. The thought of this city's sky, so perfect for calling lightning from, filled with some Qunari poison gas... the thought of another slum, suffocated in its daily life, from the white-bearded old men to the tiniest infants —

The chokedamp was tragic enough. Saar-qamek couldn't be allowed.

"Varric! Any idea where we can find Javaris?"

Varric stroked his chin. "I heard about a sell-off of merchant territories and such. They don't do that unless someone left in a hurry." He paused. "But I'd have figured he rooked a noble. He's not the burgling type."

"Just tell me where he is!"

"I haven't kept up on the squirt," Varric snapped back. "Ask the Coterie."

Adder felt her fists clench. She hadn't saved Bethany. She'd been too late for Olivia, too late for Ninette, hadn't been able to save Ketojan.

She hadn't stopped Bartrand. She hadn't saved Carver.

She wasn't going to fail this time.

"Panahedan, Hawke. It will be interesting to see if you die."

Her pace was less deliberate and measured when she left the compound. More like stomping.

* * *

"So it was guilt that motivated her?"

Varric sighs. "No, Seeker, we've been over this. It's a connection, but it's not the connection you're looking for."

"Then what drove her?"

"Equal parts guilty reparations, stubbornness, and a sense of responsibility for that town. She saw a chokedamp tragedy in the first year after the Deep Roads." Varric shakes his head. "If we'd known what we were really dealing with... no, we'd have stayed. We'd have kept at it regardless. We were the only people who could have."

"Your arrogance is remarkable," Cassandra says. "What is a chokedamp?"

"Nasty, often fatal gas sometimes leaked up from deep in the mines. It kills whole slums, sometimes."

"And witnessing this...?"

"Shook her. They never had anything like that in Lothering. She was reading everything she could get her hands on about the mines for weeks, questioning people." He has to laugh, looking back on it now. "She wanted to know if there were warning signs. She never wanted to see it again."

"But she did? In this saar-qamek fiasco?"

"Saar-qamek is worse than any chokedamp. Fenris warned us, but no path is darker, you know?"

Cassandra folds her arms across her chest.

And Varric tells the Seeker even more, like Shahrazad spinning her thousand and one tales.

* * *

MacTir always barked three times when someone was at the door. But his bark changed: gruff, angry at strangers and Gamlen, but excited for her mother and the friends she'd made these last three years.

Naturally, the instant MacTir started to bark, Sandal began to imitate him. At the tops of his considerable lungs, too. He didn't stop when MacTir did, and the MacTir started a reply...

Adder put a hand to her head, fighting off the impending headache.

There had to be a way to get in touch with the Coterie without either getting suckered into even more craziness —

Or stepping on Athenril's toes. Athenril made noises, every now and again, about how much Adder owed her for keeping the magic quiet. All through that first year, until she'd finally made it out to the Deep Roads, Athenril had paid the bribes.

If she managed to piss Athenril off, there was no telling what she'd do.

Maker's breath, it could get even worse than that. If Athenril got wind that she was looking for something, the smuggler might see profit in it. Might give chase herself. If Javaris or his notes or his trail fooled her, she'd get her hands on saar-qamek and try to use it like gaatlok.

Sweet Maker, what a rat's nest.

There had to be a way around the Athenril problem. She'd find it! Or she would if she could only think past the racket downstairs.

"How do you stand it, I wonder?"

Adder's head snapped up. Fenris was leaning against the doorframe. He had an unopened bottle of wine in one hand.

"Massive amounts of that," she said, nodding at the bottle.

The barking and imitated barking finally quieted down. There was yet another ruckus as MacTir barrelled around the main room, while Sandal followed.

Adder groaned and laid her head against the desk.

Fenris stepped more fully into the room. He chanced another look back down the stairs. His lips curved up, but then he looked back to her and seemed to grow more serious.

He moved toward her. Prowled, really; everything about Fenris was wary, paranoid grace. He stopped just far away enough to lean against her desk.

"Hawke," he said. The word was just a bare breath in the sudden quiet.

His presence by her desk made her lift her head again. He had his back to her bed, thankfully; she'd thrown off the covers and pulled down the curtains in her search for old journals. Any leverage on the Coterie she had would be there.

"And you'd been doing so well at calling me Adder," she joked, but his eyes narrowed an instant before widening again.

He looked so sad, all of a sudden. She couldn't tell if the lines on his chin exaggerated that, or if he truly was that sad.

"Fenris?"

He shifted, looked away. First he looked at the window, then at the door. As if he wanted to be anywhere but her room. Maybe he even wanted to be anywhere but her house.

"Why don't we go down to the study?" She laughed, tried to throw a little evil in. "Unless you're afraid to venture deeper into the lair?"

That earned her a quick flash of a smile.

He relaxed a bit once they were downstairs, and even more when she was pouring his wine into two glasses.

"You know, I usually have to pry you out of your mansion. What are you doing in mine?"

"The saar-qamek," he said, accepting a glass. "I... Should tell you what I know."

She returned to one of her chairs, motioned for him to sit. It was the wine she'd just sipped that brought a flush to her cheeks. Clearly. Not the line of his cheekbone caught in the firelight, or the way he managed to hold a glass despite the clawed gauntlets.

"I'd assumed it would be like... like the chokedamp, turned into a weapon."

"Eventually." He looked down, into his glass. "It doesn't start that way."

She scoffed. "What, is it sweet smelling?"

"To some. Everyone reacts to qamek differently."

"Now you're just calling it qamek? I thought it was —"

"Qamek is the Qunari word for a substance that..." He paused, staring at her hand for a moment.

Adder raised an eyebrow.

"It means _no mind_."

"So, what, we'll wind up hallucinating if we get too close?" Adder waved a hand. She was a mage. Dealing with what wasn't real was what she did.

Fenris leaned forward. "Some do."

Adder took another sip of wine. "This sounds like a story I have to hear."

"If the saar-qamek is not contained, you'll have greater troubles than simple poison or hallucinations." He paused. "Some victims will claw out their own eyes. Others will kill their own children."

"Nice try, Fenris, but — Maker's breath, you're serious."

"Some will attack you." His voice was growing quieter and quieter. "Some will turn on each other... a few will hold each other's heads under the cloud. It is madness, concentrated and contagious."

"And then deadly. And Javaris is going to try to make enough to _sell_."

She felt ill. This would be worse than chokedamp. People turning on each other in their last moments...

 _—You say Bethany and I always held you back, little brother, but—_

No. It wouldn't be like that. She wouldn't let it be like that.

"Fenris." She set the wineglass down on her reading desk, not even half-drained. "Help me find him."

He looked up from his glass, met her eyes. "Ask me anything, and it is done."

* * *

And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know  
This weakness I feel I must finally show  
Lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all

—Mumford & Sons, "Awake My Soul"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Details of Qunari language are ~~totally made up~~ self-revealed extrapolations. Please take with a grain of salt (but seriously, _qamek_ , _saar-qamek_ , I am smelling a connection here...)
> 
> Also, the original summary was "They built this city on rock and roll. Too bad the Qunari want them all off the lawn."


	3. recently mine have been tearing my seams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Massive, massive amounts of graphic violence in this chapter. See end note for specifics.

"Could she truly not find this Coterie?" Cassandra raises a scornful brow, but she offers him a canteen of water.

The woman's a puzzle. He's not so busy recounting history that he can't try to piece her together, but she certainly doesn't make it easy.

"Hawke? No. Hawke was a smuggler. _Finding_ the Coterie was never the issue. It was getting in touch with them without pissing off all her old smuggling contacts."

"But you say Athenril was a small fish in a big pond, compared to the others."

"She was big enough to bribe the right people to turn their heads, that first year. And fortune hadn't exactly frowned on Athenril."

Cassandra stares at him. He takes a long swig of water.

"So she had grown in importance?"

"Just the way her hired apostate did. But Hawke got a message to her. A few dozen sovereigns convinced Athenril that Hawke was chasing something nasty, and Athenril should keep her nose out."

"And Athenril stayed out of it?"

"Hawke and Aveline played rough when they had to. Those few dozen sovereigns were a gift to help Athenril bail three of her best boys out of jail."

The Seeker can't stop a smirk at that. That's the moment Varric knows he's getting through. Addelaide Hawke is finally taking shape in the Seeker's mind. She's not some milk-bland, blood-painted Champion of Kirkwall anymore.

She's a refugee, a sister, a daughter. A friend.

* * *

The Coterie and the Carta both operated out of Darktown. Why they bothered with the place, Adder was never sure. Darktown was the last refuge of the penniless, frequent prey for Templars bribed away from Hightown and guardsmen on the take.

Of course, it was also a haven of thieves, scoundrels, and muggers. Lowtown had vandals and whores, mostly, but Darktown was something else. And in the midst of all the seedy, smelly "commerce," neither Coterie nor Carta stood out.

She'd have ventured in with just Aveline — she used to rove these passages with only Carver at her side — but Varric and Fenris had both stomped that idea.

"It's been three years since you were down there. The name Hawke won't carry the weight it used to with those thugs. Maker's sake, the ones you knew are probably dead by now."

Fenris's argument had been shorter: "Say anything you please. I'm going with you."

And so she found herself with two too many people behind her as she stared down a Coterie barker. The tiredness hiding in the woman's tone suggested she hadn't had a profitable day.

Considering the expression that crossed the barker's face when she caught sight of the ex-smuggler, it seemed Adder's reappearance only made her day worse.

Well, they could agree on something. The barker would want her gone, and Darktown wasn't even a nice place to visit. Adder wanted herself gone just as much as the barker would.

"So I hear you're selling the assets of Javaris Tintop?"

"Limited contracts, limited districts. Means everything's nice and separate from the start," the barker replied. She narrowed her eyes, gaze casting toward Aveline, before she added, "Keeps any messy arguments from springin' up. You lookin' to buy?"

"I might be looking to go in shares." Adder smiled wide. "Or I might not be. Tell me what there is to buy."

"Not much. He had a meager lot. Only reason we're botherin' to sell is he left with dues outstanding."

Exactly what Adder'd hoped to hear. From the way Varric's breath hissed into a chuckle, he'd suspected.

"Sounds like he's made some friends. Can one of them point me his way? For a price, maybe?"

The barker's eyes narrowed even more. Adder hadn't thought that possible. "Ask that about anyone else, and I'd toss you out. But this one owes us."

Adder drew a line with her hand, palm up. "Don't mind me, I'm just waiting for an answer."

"He left in a hurry. Didn't say where he was going. But fees the size of his still oustanding, he'll be in Smuggler's Cut. I can almost promise."

* * *

Adder liked Smuggler's Cut even less than she liked Darktown. And that was saying something.

For one, she felt like she should be wearing her smuggler's leathers. For another, she'd never come here without Carver.

For a third, it had a damned infestation of Carta.

Adder slung her staff from her back, took a deep breath. She swung the staff overhead, focusing on building mana.

A sharp jab toward one of the Carta sent a bolt of lightning straight for him. He jolted and quivered, teeth chattering so loud she could hear it over Fenris threatening people in Tevinter.

She heard movement behind her and dodged forward just before a dagger would have paid a visit to her kidneys. Adder spun around, lashing out with the staff. The staff's blade caught the rogue in the stomach, and then the lightning struck.

He shook wildly, but there was no telling if it was the belly wound, the shock, or a combination of the two that made him slump to the ground.

After that, Adder got lost in the rhythm. Swing, buzz, chatter, gurgle. Swing, buzz, chatter, gurgle.

Carta thugs went down. Blood ran in rivulets along Fenris's arms, flecked onto Aveline's face. Only she and Varric stayed relatively clean.

It ended quickly. One moment, she was electrocuting a thug while Fenris brought his greatsword down in an overhand swing. The next, they were the only ones standing in the Cut.

Fenris twisted his wrists, shaking the blood from his blade, before he sheathed it. Aveline wiped her sword down carefully with a cloth she carried just for the occasion.

"This is why I hate Darktown," Varric sighed. "Always half a dozen angry dwarves looking to kill you. May I suggest we never come back?"

Fenris stared at him. "There were more than twelve."

"Details, details."

Aveline looked over at her. "And you wanted to come with just the two of us."

"It would have been a fantastic day on the town! Better than having your feet massaged and covered in mud by under-dressed, underpaid Orlesian boys."

Aveline snorted. "As if either of us would stand for that."

"You're going to have to get over your Orlesian thing _someday_ , Aveline."

Aveline gave her a reproving look. "Not by having my feet massaged."

* * *

Just like he had the first time they'd met, Javaris had hired shoddy guards. Between the four of them, the guards were short work.

Adder shouldered her staff and watched a head roll by Aveline's foot. It stopped at the crest of a small sand dune, unable to roll uphill. Adder'd expected it to roll right over the tops of Aveline's boots, considering the guard captain's swing.

Javaris scuttled backwards, cringing.

Adder spread her arms wide, as if she wanted a hug. "Javaris! Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

"You? Granny's garters, she would hire you," the dwarf hissed. "I can't buy a break on discount."

"Discount certainly hasn't served you well. Have you tried paying people what they're worth?"

Javaris ignored her. "You know what? Go ahead. Take my head and pike it back to that sodding elf. I could use the rest."

"That sodding elf?" She raised an eyebrow. "You realize you're standing in front of an elf who just busted somebody's ribcage with one swing? If he wanted your head, he'd be holdig it."

"Different elf."

"Then what in blazes are you talking about?"

"You don't know? So yo're, what, tracking for the Qunari?"

"And the viscount!"

Javaris mumbled something. Adder couldn't catch any of it.

"Ah, I didn't _think_ he was your burglar." Varric chuckled. "We're not climbers."

Fenris looked up, finally taking interest in the convesation. "He's running for a reason."

"My life, maybe. Look, I'm minding my business, same old, same old, and out of the blue some elf tries to kill me."

Adder arched her other brow.

"She says she's got the Qunari powder and I'm her cover. I slipped her, hired some bodyguards, and ran for it. And now you're here! My year is complete."

Aveline folded her arms over her chest. "If you're lying, Tintop..."

"You'll never find me if it comes to that. But I'm telling the truth, here."

"Then why are you the only person we see here?" It was Varric who asked, stealing the question before she could voice it.

"Leaving her behind was the first step in running _away_. I'm sorry if that's inconvenient. But if you have to drag dark into light, I had a man follow her. She's in Lowtown."

"I want an address," Adder said. "And if people die because you lied to me, Javaris, what I do when I find you won't be pretty."

"Sod it, woman, I'm not lying. I just want to get out. With my dead guards. Thanks for them, by the way."

"Then it sounds like you've got a very long way to go, hopefully."

"Right. Got me a wonderful future to plan out. Probably starts with selling some boots."

"Before you do anything, you write that address down. Make sure you're neat, so you can't pretend we misread." Varric's tone was hard, angrier than she'd heard him since the Deep Roads fiasco.

* * *

"And he just gave you the address? Just like that?"

Varric has to laugh. "We killed our way through Smuggler's Cut — which he had to know was full of angry Carta — and then cut down all his guards right in front of him. He'd have sold us his mother if he thought that'd get him out alive."

"And was he telling the truth?"

"Well, I'd like to think so. He's long gone now, so there's certainly no asking him."

Cassandra's eyes narrow.

* * *

Adder had to stop and think about the last time she'd snuck out of her home. Had she ever? She had nothing to hide in Lothering, and then when they arrived in Kirkwall, she hadn't needed to sneak.

Well. Hadn't needed to sneak out. She'd learned very quickly how to open the door and enter home quietly to keep from waking her mother and Gamlen.

Carver had been terrible at it. Maybe it had been the weight of all that muscle. Maybe it had been the huge Fereldan boots.

Subtlety simply hadn't been his strong point. Not until the end, when he'd hidden —

Adder dropped to the ground. She wiped her hands on the backs of her trousers, smearing away any dew from the ivy she'd climbed down.

"You'd go alone?"

Only her pride kept her from jumping. "Not 'would go,' Fenris. Am going."

"You may wish to," he replied, "but you're not going alone."

Darktown and the Carta were one thing. But people gone mad and a poison gas on the streets was an entirely different game. One she didn't want anyone else playing.

"This is too dangerous. I'm not taking you. I'm not taking anyone!"

"Then you aren't going."

That startled her into speechlessness. She opened her mouth, trying to find something to say.

Fenris talked over anything she might have come up with, anyway. "Saar-qamek is nothing to trifle with."

"This would be me, not trifling. I'm going alone _because_ it's so dangerous."

"You risk being driven mad, being killed by the people you mean to save, being killed by the gas itself." His brows drew down, lips curving into the sorrow he wore so well. "Trust me in this."

Well, bells of the Void. Maker's breath, he knew how to manipulate. When had he learned how to manipulate?

"If you die on me, I'll bring you back wrong just so I can kill you myself," she said.

Rather than get angry over the threat of blood magic, Fenris simply looked flatly at her. His expression vanished completely, becoming a blank mask, for an instant.

And then he looked sadder.

* * *

"You want to talk about guilt as a motivation?" Varric sighs. "That was it, right there."

Cassandra's eyes narrow thoughtfully. Then she nods. She crosses the room, pulls a basket from some hidden corner.

Varric's mouth waters. He drains the canteen in another few sips.

Cassandra offers him a hunk of bread and an entire chicken leg.

He almost doesn't know which to tear into first.

* * *

Adder led Fenris through the twisting streets of Lowtown. It had been her stomping grounds for a year, and she'd learned it well. Far better than he knew the tiny side-cuts and alleys and confusing maze of hexes.

She could get to Dirkstreet Hex without ever going near the Hanged Man.

Adder sidled down a staircase so narrow and steep she could have sworn her nose brushed the other wall. The lack of space meant Fenris pressed in immediately behind her. His gauntlets and greatsword scraped stone; the sound almost covered the click of a crossbow cocking.

And she couldn't even draw her staff. Or switch positions with Fenris. Damn it! Casting without a staff was a damnable pain.

"Hawke, Fenris, that you?"

Varric's voice. The crossbow she'd heard cocking was Bianca.

Well, she wasn't about to die in some tiny half-alley, unable to defend herself. That was a start.

"Fenris, you went behind my back to arrange —"

Somebody chuckled. "Hawke, would you have thought to bring us if he hadn't?"

Fenris had gone behind her back to bring along Varric and _Anders_? Was she dreaming? Was this the Fade? Had she died and wound up being tortured in the Void?

"I thought you were bringing Sebastian." She could hear the frown in Fenris's tone.

"I changed my mind. If we're dealing with poison gas, we'll need a healer and you know it."

Fenris growled something in Tevinter, but he quieted quickly.

The group was quiet as they made their way through backstreets. Maybe it was the seething anger that radiated from Fenris and Anders. Maybe it was the slippery, dark silence on the streets.

For once, thugs weren't roaming in tight-knit bands.

In the stories of Remi Vascal, the forests always grew still when something evil was afoot. She wasn't Remi Vascal, and this was no forest. But Aveline had been right, three years ago: paying attention to what _wasn't_ there was just as important as paying attention to what was.

And these streets were too quiet.

But as she turned onto Waltham, just three corners and a blind alley from Dirkstreet Hex, noise returned. Not the noise of blades drawing or muggers trying to stalk prey.

These were the sounds of desperate people. Children cried. Women argued shrilly with men, with other women, while men shouted at each other. She heard the sound of flesh striking flesh.

Two words flashed through her head, circled over and over: _Too late_. Too late. She'd been too late.

"All of you, I can't fight the damned air! I can't stop this anymore than you can!"

Adder picked up the pace. She kept a hand on her staff, ready to draw it in case anyone outside Dirkstreet Hex had contracted the crazies.

"You want to live, stay out," a city guard was saying.

Anders made a choked sound. "Is that the best you can do?"

Adder swept a hand out to keep Anders back. The guard was doing the best he could. There was no fighting air. She'd have to charge in and hope to the Void there was a way to stop it all.

"Yes, stay out," she told the crowd gathering around the guardsman. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

There was a momentary pause.

"Wait! Messere Hawke!"

Adder stopped, turned to face the guard. She raised an eyebrow.

"Maker, please," he begged. "The street is death. There was a cloud that drove people mad, and now a seeping mist that kills. All I can do is warn people!"

"Kills how?" Anders cut in. "Do they simply fall over or cough? Tell me!"

"The ones who don't go mad retch themselves to death. Please, messere Hawke, if someone like you dies on my watch, I'm right stuffed!"

Adder looked at the guard a moment, took in the desperation, the terror around them. She quirked her lips into a hint of a smile.

"Well... hold your breath."

"B-but — oh, shit."

* * *

The very air burned her throat worse than darkspawn blood. It tasted sickly-sweet. There was an undercurrent of smoke, of rotting fruit. She half expected flies to be buzzing around, eating up the stench.

But there weren't any. Maker's breath, was it even killing the flies?

Adder closed her mouth and covered her nose with her hands. The scent on the wind made her think of that pear Carver had once taken a single bite of and then hidden underneath one of Gamlen's loose floorboards. Petty revenge for the old man cheating him at wallop.

"Ugh, Maker's breath. It's everywhere. And I don't think there's any saving any of them." Anders pointed to a tangle of bodies.

It wasn't the only pile of people who had simply collapsed. Puddles of vomit stank along the street, with people — sometimes multiple people — curled with their faces still in it.

"Those barrels," Varric said. "It's coming from those barrels. We've got to close them."

Children. There were three children curled around a pool of something she didn't want to identify.

Adder stepped over them. She dug in a pocket and pulled out a kerchief, which she tied over her mouth and nose. Better safe than sorry if she was going to go anywhere near those barrels.

She strode toward the nearest one, side-stepping bodies as she went. The lid was open, but looked like she could close it if she pushed down hard enough.

No matter how she dug in, though, it wouldn't close.

Adder had to turn away to gag, to cough, to try and suck in air that wasn't tainted.

When she could speak again, she looked up. "Fenris? Varric?"

They stepped foward, but even between all three of them, the barrel wouldn't close.

Anders uncurled, gracefully, from his posiion over the body of a child. "I thought she was moving," he said, softly, and the sorrow on his face was genuine.

Adder nodded. He'd become a healer to help people. This had to be painful for a him, a stinging failure.

She'd come here to help and there was nothing she could —

Something metal glinted in the moonlight. What was that? She moved toward it, pressing the kerchief closer over her face with one arm as she knelt to pick it up.

Some sort of latch, it looked like. Adder turned it over in her hands.

"Bet you could close those barrels with that," Varric said.

She tossed it to him. He turned and worked its latch magic on the nearest barrel. The lid shut with a snap and a loud click.

Somewhere in the hex, somebody coughed. The cough turned into a horrible, gurgling gag, but the gag became a rasping laugh.

Anders spared her half a glance before dashing deeper into the mist.

Fenris swore in Tevinter again, but he was hard on her heels when she raced to follow Anders. From the sound that echoed through the cloud, Varric waited only long enough to draw Bianca from his back.

"Baby," a woman slurred. "Baby, come to mother."

After that the woman let out a gurgling sob, sounding almost like a child. She was curled up, leaning theside of her head against a barrel. One armed reached out fitfully, hand open, fingers splayed.

She was beckoning a tiny body that lay facedown in a sticky pool of dark red.

Anders's hands started to glow blue-white. For an instant, Adder smelled growth and healing in the air, not corruption and death.

"Happy birthday, Carroll," the woman sobbed, but then the sob turned into an unstable giggle. "I gave her the best, exactly what she wanted. Something sharp and shiny!"

That was the moment the woman caught sight of Anders.

Adder saw the woman wobble to her feet. A heartbeat later, a knife flashed silver and red. She slung the staff down.

The woman flew back. Something skittered across the pavement. Varric stopped it with a boot.

"Kitchen knife," he said. "Bloodied. Crazy woman probably did turn the damn thing on her kid."

"She killed her own daughter?" Anders couldn't conceal the disgust in his tone.

Fenris went tense.

The woman started to giggle again. She sucked in a deep breath. It sounded thick and wet in her throat.

Adder threw a fist forward, sweeping the staff in a practised motion. Anders swung his staff at the same time. Lightning and ice both struck. She heard the hiss of steam, a sound like glass shattering.

Bone cracked.

The woman's body bounced along broken cobblestones. Her head struck the wall of a building. There was another crack. The woman's hand flopped, limply, as she finally came to a stop.

Varric knelt to inspect something else that glinted in the moonlight. He stood with a latch in his hands.

Anders was the one to close the barrel, this time.

Adder could only stare down at the pair of bodies. One bent and broken, the other tiny and torn.

"Fenris," she found herself asking, "will they all be like this?"

Fenris was silent a moment. "Most," he said at last. "A few may still be sane, but most are beyond saving."

He turned away, stepping carefully around dark and bright splotches on the streets.

Adder followed, trying not to look down.

They swept through the streets. The mist had cleared a little, with two barrells closed.

Anders turned in a circle, then closed his eyes. He swung his staff down, murmuring under his breath.

Fire blossomed in the air around him. It raced along the poison cloud, sparking and hissing.

Some of the air cleared even more. Adder lifted the kerchief and took in a deep breath. There was still an undercurrent of rotten pears, but now she could almost breathe.

"There are more barrels," Varric said, looking at the mist that still seeped into the hex.

Adder stared down the street, strained to hear the hiss of air escaping one of the barrels. There was nothing. "Then let's find them."

They split up. Varric grabbed Anders before he could follow her and headed in the opposite direction. Adder took Fenris deeper into one of the side alleys.

He drew his sword as they went, frown deepening. He looked angry, this time, rather than sad.

Someone coughed. She caught a mumble, and then someone — maybe the same person — began to chant, "Make the powder, blame the oxmen. Make the powder, blame the oxmen!"

Fenris moved to put himself between her and whoever's talking.

Two doors opened at once. A tiny, glassy-eyed elf stumbled out of the door ahead of Fenris, while a man in armor staggered out of another door. The elf couldn't have been older than mid-teens.

And held a bloodied length of wire in her hands.

"She said some of us would die," she says. "Not all of us. Not so many."

"What happened?" Adder raised her staff between herself and the teen. "What did you do?"

The elf stared at her. "I killed. Of course I killed. What else do you do when the world goes mad?"

"I find in those situations, I usually try to make sense of things."

The elf smiled dreamily. "The wire made perfect sense."

Right. Crazy. First threatening move she made, Adder was going to send her into the wall with a stone fist.

Fenris backed away. His eyes were on the man in armor, who still hadn't said a word. The man seemed to be watching Fenris, but his eyes were so glazed there was no telling what was going through his head.

"You handling him?" Adder asked out of the side of her mouth.

Rather than reply, he angled himself at the armored man. His opponent continued to stare.

"The wire made sense?" She asked the teen.

The teen's smile only widened. "I didn't know how at first. But it's easy, so easy! Not when they're expecting it, though."

The teen went tense, her smile stiffening.

Adder jabbed forward with the staff.

Cobblestones rattled and the elf reeled backward. A block of stone struck her in the jaw and she crumpled to one knee. She jerked her wrists, flexing the wire in her hands.

Adder swung the staff sharply, three times, and then pounded the staff's tip against the cobblestones.

Lightning arced over the crazy teen's body. It crackled blue and white and left bright green afterimages in the air. The teen twisted and writhed, eyes rolling up in her head.

And then, at last, she went still.

Adder turned abruptly.

Fenris had sprung forward. He hooked an ankle around the armed man's shin, but his opponent had the presence of mind to step out of the lock. Fenris snarled and brought the greatsword up, neatly blocking one of the man's wild swings.

Adder cast a nameless lightning spell. It struck the man in the side, sparked and sparkled. White light danced in reflection along the flat of Fenris's blade.

Fenris kicked out. The ball of his foot connected with the man's knee. Despite his knee guards, there was a horrible crack.

Adder watched the man's mouth open in an _o_ , just before Fenris brought his greatsword down on the man's neck.

His head didn't fly off. It didn't even separate completely — it only rocked to one side, tilting almost fully off the neck.

"Left the spine intact," Fenris observed. "Not my best work."

"I really don't think he's in a position to care."

"Hm, true enough. Let's keep moving."

This time, she followed him. There was another barrel at the deepest part of the alley, and a discarded steel latch.

Adder crouched to pick it up. As she stood, she looked first one way, then another. No telling when more crazies would appear.

She closed the lid on the barrel and pulled lightning from the air. It arced around her, racing along the gas in thin pinprick chains. More of the gas evaporated.

They passed the fallen teen on their way out of the alley. Adder stared down at the bloodied wire.

"How did she get blood on that? I thought strangling people was bloodless."

"She probably sawed the wire along the throat. Amateurs often do."

Adder shuddered. "Let's just get back to the others. Maybe they've found —"

Somewhere in the hex, a door slammed open. Metal rang against stone, most likeing from striking a wall.

They didn't even have to look at each other. Instead, they ran in the direction of the sound.

An elf woman — tiny, blond — stood at the top of a staircase, flanked by masked mercenaries.

Anders and Varric stood at the bottom of the staircase. Ice wreathed around Anders, swirling in white-cold points along each end of his staff. Varric had Bianca out and ready to fire.

Adder readied her staff.

The elf woman laughed.

"So! Your fault, I presume?"

"Are you — Serah Hawke?" The elf's eyes narrowed. "You have enemies."

Adder decided not to point out that she was well aware. Pretty obvious you had enemies when people made a habit of trying to kill you.

"I'm glad it's you, really. These poor people! No-one will care. But you! You make a much better target."

Ah, a lunatic. That explained everything.

"Care to explain your particular brand of crazy?"

If she even could. This woman seemed farther gone than anyone Adder had met to date.

"Qunari take my people! My siblings forget their culture, then go to the _Qun_ for purpose. We're losing them twice!"

Anders's eyes glowed blue-white. "And so you kill them? You are a fool and a madwoman."

"So, I get some help from your people. We'll take the Qunari thunder, make some accidents, and make them hated!" The elf's expression pitched down into sorrow. "But this... this is all wrong."

Adder could only stare up at her. "You were going to kill people anyway? That's..." But there was no joke, no pun that would make any of this better. "Not funny at all, really."

"It can still work. They are hidden in your city. They'll enrage the faithful, and make sure the Qunari are blamed! Me, I'm finished. I just need a few more bodies. Just a few."

Too much happened at once: Varric fired Bianca three times in a row, swearing. Anders dodged to the side, just barely avoiding an arrow to the throat. Fenris zipped forward, glowing.

Adder dropped into a crouch, spinning her staff along the ground. The earth pulled at her, at the staff, like a lodestone. Standing again was difficult, but she swept both her left arm and her staff up as she did.

The mists left in the air swirled together. Pinpricks danced along her spine, up and down her arms, like she'd touched her tongue to a rune.

The sky roared.

Thunder rolled.

Hot white light snapped and crackled in the air. It caught the elf's hired thugs. One bolt struck the elf, who threw her head back and howled at the burn of it.

Varric shouted something at them and fired off another three rounds. One of the mercenaries took a shot to the throat. Another took a hit to the knee.

Anders followed Fenris. Ice flowed from his staff, freezing the madwoman and two of her mercenaries in place.

Adder followed. She slammed her staff down against the stairs, then jabbed forward with it. A thrust of her left fist made the cobblestones rattle.

Anders's ice trapped the madwoman. She couldn't even rock back from the force of Adder's stone striking chest. And around them, the tempest snarled and raged, catching thugs in the mana-driven lightning.

A bolt struck her. Adder felt her eyes roll up at the whisper of her own magic against her skin, but she pressed forward. She gestured with the staff, miming strikes, and watched more lightning splinter and arc over the fanatic and her goons.

Another three bolts of lightning finally blasted apart the ice encasing the fanatic. She screamed in fury, charging at the first of them she could reach: Fenris.

Fenris stepped into and under her reach. His arms shot up, trapping her greatsword against the flat of his own. Metal shrilled.

Adder winced.

She gathered mana and lightning with one hand, pulling it toward herself, and then sent it flying out. Her grip on her staff twisted, but she kept hold.

Light bloomed from her fingers, raced for the fanatic. Lines of it traced the darkness around them, bursting like fire, and then spread from the fanatic to her hirelings.

Fenris ducked out of the woman's range. The edge of her sword scraped along the flat of his as he moved.

Varric stopped her from keeping up the onslaught with a well-placed bolt. It struck the elf in the thickest part of her armor, sent her flying back. She hit a wall with a crack.

And didn't rise again.

Adder cast another lightning spell. It twitched along the woman's body, but the woman gave no response.

Anders spun around, trapping the last pair of mercenaries in a wave of ice again. He jabbed with his staff, blasting them with fire.

Skin crackled, hissed. Adder had to breathe through her mouth at the scent of burning flesh.

Anders slung his staff back over his shoulder.

The hex was silent but for the sound of distant coughing.

* * *

Spare me your judgments and spare me your dreams,  
'cause recently mine have been tearing my seams.  
—Mumford & Sons, "Thistle & Weeds"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTINUED WARNING: We have a beheading, a near-beheading, electrocutions, lots and lots of broken bones, a teenager garroting people, somebody turning a kitchen knife on their child, somebody taking a crossbow bolt to the throat, and so much more!


	4. we have been blessed with certain thoughts

Varric sighs. "It wound up being a long night."

Cassandra stares blankly for a moment. At last, she finds words. "But the battle was over. Your part was done."

That startles a laugh out of him. "With the fanatic, maybe. But there were still buildings to clear, to make sure the gas couldn't spread. And there were survivors to drag out."

"She dragged out survivors?"

"We all did. Most of them were too weak from the retching to move on their own, so we dragged them out into the hex and let Anders try to heal them."

Cassandra's face softens for an instant. They're developing an understanding, at long last.

"How many made it?" The tone is a hair less sharp than all her other questions, as if she knows the answer already.

"Not many. Maybe a dozen. Maybe twice that, out of nearly a hundred. Anders worked himsef to exhaustion and Adder kept clearing rooms of the gas, but..."

"But to no avail. She failed again."

"She kept it from getting worse," he says. "That's no failure."

"The woman you describe could have seen it as no less."

He almost has to smile at that. That's true enough.

"And after the night was over? What did you do when dawn broke?"

"Why, we met with the Arishok, of course."

* * *

The Arishok's brows drew down. "So I was wrong about our thief."

"You'll get used to it," Adder replied.

The Arishok didn't appreciate the quip. His brows furrowed even more. The irritated wrinkle on the bridge of his nose deepened into an infuriated crevasse.

"They say we were careless with our trap, that this is our fault. But even without the saar-qamek, there would have been death."

Not nearly on this scale, Adder almost said.

"This elf was determined to lay blame at our feet."

And no blame rested there, of course. To blame the people who had _allowed_ the theft of the saar-qamek recipe would be just illogical. Adder's mouth filled with the tang of copper and salt in the effort to say none of that.

The Arishok's tirade kept going: "Selfishness, want, denial — how do you allow this to continue?"

A lecture? From a man who bore just as much blood on his hands as that sodding elf? It was too much to take.

"If you won't talk straight," she found herself snapping as she turned away, "we won't talk."

She made it three steps, was just passing Varric, before the Arishok rumbled, "Hold."

Adder stopped. Her head jerked up, pride not letting her cringe in front of him. She turned, slowly.

"You've decided to spare the lecture, then? That was fast."

"Since we arrived, I have seen nothing but greed and weakness. Dwarves, humans, elves — just... festering. No order. No goal. You are one of the few I have met with any ability. And yet that, too, is random, a result of selfishness." He raised a hand, gesturing suspiciously vaguely for a race that seemed to thrive on mastery and precision. "I cannot _fathom_ how a mire like this can be justified."

If she wanted to hear judgmental claptrap, she'd visit a Chantry. Adder raised one eyebrow, let her face show her impatience at the sermon for just an instant.

"You turned from me. Do you turn as easily from all this... chaos?"

She had to laugh. "Are you asking me if I want to change it? Why would anyone do that?"

"You," and here the Arishok paused, clearly revolted, "like it?"

"It's life. It's _people_ , living their lives for good or ill. You can't change that. People are what they are."

The Arishok glowered at her for an instant, as if trying to translate her reply into Qunari so he could make sense of it. Or maybe he was just trying to make sense of it. He looked to his side, then sighed and stood, sweeping a hand out to indicate one of the painted warriors who stood on the side of the dais.

"Karasten are soldiers. The Qun made it so. They can never vary from that assigned path, never be other than they are meant to be. But, they are free to choose within that role. To accept and suceed, or deny and die. Glory is clear and defined."

Oh, just great. Now he was proselytizing. She half wanted to ask Varric to shoot her.

"You claim it is no different anywhere else. You say this is life for 'good or ill.' But one is clearly superior to the other. Would this certainty not benefit your whole city?"

"Maybe," she allowed. "But I find myself distracted by 'deny and die.'"

"You think this is a threat?" The Arishok's lips twitched, but whether it was an amused smirk or a sneer, Adder wasn't sure. "Your kind may force our role to change, if the Qun demands."

"Why aren't you more concerned about her supporters?"

"Our enemies strike from the shadow because they cannot stand before us. This is no new revelation." He paused, sinking back onto his throne. "And it doesn't matter. I am not here to fight; I am here to satisfy a demand you cannot understand."

Adder raised an eyebrow. "It's certainly taking long enough."

"It will take as long as needed. There is no rescue from duty to the Qun. I am stuck here."

"You could have built a ship by now, you know."

"It is not about a ship! Filth _stole_ from us. Not now, not saar-qamek. Years ago!"

His voice was a whipcrack, a roll of thunder, and she almost jumped.

"A simple act of greed has bound me. We are all denied Par Vollen until I alone recover what was lost under my command!" He stood again, pacing. "That is why the elf and her shadows are unimportant. That is why I do not simply walk from this pustule of a city!"

Adder reeled back. She'd guessed the Arishok would hate this town, but this was a little much. She found herself turning a little, to take in Fenris's expression.

He looked startled, even a little disturbed.

"Fixing your mess is not the demand of the Qun! And you should all be," his snarl turned into a roar, " _grateful!_ "

That startled them all into taking multiple steps back. Adder fought to keep herself from shaking in the face of his anger. She'd walked blithely into a hexagonal courtyard filled with poison gas, and would have done so alone, had Varric and Fenris not outmaneuvered her. What was one Arishok to be afraid of?

Drained of his fury, the Arishok returned to his chair. "Thank you, human, for your service. Leave."

She left, practically pushing Anders and Varric out ahead of her. Fenris side-stepped so he could walk at her heel again.

The gatekeeper karasten slammed the gates to the compound shut behind them. Adder pushed forward, pressing past the throng until they were seaside. She settled alongside one of the stairwells covered by the ocean at high tide, peeled out of a glove, and dipped her hands in.

The ocean was a soothing murmur against her skin. Despite the dockside refuse and the scent of dead fish, it seemed cleaner, calmer than the ground beneath her feet.

"That's an oxman ready to charge. We need to tell the viscount," Varric said.

Fenris sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Oxman?" His tone was sharp. He was a step away from angry ranting.

"Forgive me if I'm not impressed with our horned friends. Considering they just let how many people die?"

"If it hadn't been saar-qamek, it would have been imitation Qunari blades, or supposed converts to the Qun."

"And if it hadn't been _allowed_ it would never have been on that scale."

Adder snapped. "Why don't the two of you go mud-wrestle? It'd be a lot less annoying and a lot more likely to make one of you see reason."

Fenris turned to stare at her. His eyes looked wide, his mouth turned down.

"Varric, words like that just drag us down to the level of the fanatics. Fenris, Varric's got a point about some of that blood being on the Arishok's hands." She paused, considering. "It could just be me, but did he seem..."

"A little crazy?" Anders's eyes crinkled, his lip curving up for a moment. "The Warden Commander knew a Qunari. Said he kept his temper even better than she did. And _that_ display was a tantrum she would rather have cut her own throat than lose control enough to throw."

"As much as I hate to agree with the abomination, the Arishok was ill at ease." Fenris paused. "The viscount should know."

"Understatment of the age, elf. Understatement of the age."

That startled a chuckle out of Adder.

"He is... unwell. Were this Seheron, I do not believe he would retain his post."

* * *

Adder couldn't keep her attention off the viscount's windows while she informed him of the developments. The sunlight was too bright, echoed the pull of the earth as she cast Tempest, would be too easy to transfigure to lightning.

The Keep stank of magic to her and always would. She sometimes wondered why.

Today, she wondered just what in the Void the viscount kept in his head. He certainly didn't use it to store any kind of brain.

"Years of nice, _quiet_ anxiety gone. Along with a whole street!"

Did no one in this wretched town understand the concept of 'priorities?' Was it too late to go back to the Arishok and tell him she'd changed her mind — that she _did_ hate all the chaos and selfishness?

Adder kept the thought to herself. "An accident on purpose, more or less."

"Right. A mad elf, pushed by zealots, likely hidden in the groups I have to appease." Dumar adjusted his iron crown with one hand. "The Maker has a grand sense of humor."

Yes, the Maker certainly must, assuming he even existed. Or gave much of a damn. After all, he'd saddled her with this buffoon for a viscount.

"And the Arishok — I suspected he had no plans to leave. I didn't know it was just as annoying for him."

'Annoying' would not have been the word Adder chose. 'Infuriating' perhaps. Or even better, 'maddening.'

Still. "At this point, you could send him gold," she joked, "and he'd complain it was heavy. And probably think you were trying to insult him."

"And it's about to get worse." The viscount tugged on his crown again, as if it was too heavy for his bald head, or as if it'd brought him nothing but trouble. "There won't be any reparations for this latest."

"This latest?"

Dumar continued on, as if he'd made sense the first time around. "A shame. There were overtures of civility. Your influence, no doubt."

This was sounding worse and worse. Adder felt her stomach sink low enough to play diamondback with her toes.

"Do I _want_ to hear what happened?"

"A Qunari delegate and entourage paid me a visit. It was civil, tentative. Hopeful, even."

"You really need to get over this suspense habit of yours," she said. She suspected she knew where this was going, and in response to her worry, her stomach played a Jack of trump against her big toe's Five.

"They left my chamber with precision, like ducks in a row, but were not reported by the outer guard. They are missing almost literally from my doorstep. What, do you imagine, will be the Arishok's reaction?"

Her big toe folded the hand. Her stomach did a victory flop before it took the pot and made a dash for her mouth.

Bright side, bright side. There had to be a bright side. A way she wasn't hearing what she thought she was hearing. A way to avoid the Arishok's head exploding, or declaring war, or... whatever that crazy man would do if his delegates turned up dead. Maybe actively unleash saar-qamek on the city, rather than just allow its theft.

"Do the Qunari generally keep you updated? They seem like private folk to me."

"Qunari do not disappear," Dumar snapped. "They know we watch, and they are not shy about their movements." He sighed, waving her out of the room with an exhausted hand. "Speak to Seneschal Bran. He has details that show how damning this is."

Oh, this was going to be good. Adder couldn't wait.

* * *

In addition to Fenris and Varric, Aveline was waiting for her just outside the door to the viscount's study.

Funny, how just seeing Aveline could make her feel a bit better about the situation. Aveline was as strong and stubborn as a mabari — which made her just as good to have on her side. Which, alright, was a proverb more frequently applied to Denerim, but somehow Aveline had become Ferelden itself in Adder's eyes.

Maker's breath, she must be tired to be so damnably sentimental.

"Good to see you, Avvs," she said. "Reconsider my offer of an Orlesian mud massage?"

Aveline chuckled, shaking her head. "After the night I hear you had, it sounds like you need it more than I do."

"Aw, Avvs, we'll go together! It will be fabulous! Just think of it, all those under-dressed boys mugging for our silver."

Aveline's brow furrowed. Her lips pursed. The righteous irritation of the guard captain — the very same righteous irritation that had once regularly scared the piss out of Varric — had been aroused.

"You haven't had any sleep yet," she accused, then sighed. "For Andraste's sake, Adder. Have you even broken fast?"

"Guilty as charged. How did you guess? And where are the other three?"

"Anders left in a huff the minute I arrived. Apparently I'm just a tool of the Templars."

"That's a laugh." Adder had to shake her head. She mostly agreed with Anders's assessment of the Circle situation. She'd spent her entire life outside the Circle and hadn't turned into a murderous lunatic, but his methods and his... intensity... Well. It sucked out any sense of humor.

He hadn't even seen the pun in _Justice is righteous. Justice is hard._

Aveline's face softened into an ironic smile. "It was certainly news to me." She paused. "The other two are right outside this room. Apparently the Seneschal doesn't want elves and dwarves unnerving his viscount."

"I swear the viscount should just remarry Bran," she remarked. "They've both got dead wives, they're clearly both in love with the same thing, and they've got hat-racks rather than heads."

"And saying things like _that_ , right outside the viscount's study, is how I know you're dead on your feet. You've got a bit more tact than that, usually." Aveline paused. "And you shortened my name."

"What can I say? Wickedness never sleeps, and I'm clearly the wickedest of them all."

Aveline rolled her eyes. "Let's just get you out of here before you get yourself stripped of all rights and moneys."

Adder let Aveline herd her out of the sitting room and into the Keep's main hall. She dug her heels in just outside. Varric and Fenris were both staring hard at Seneschal Bran, who looked anywhere but at them and kept shifting his weight on his feet.

Varric looked distinctly unimpressed. Fenris just looked suspiciously blank.

"Don't worry, Bran. Unless you lose half your height or grow pointy ears, they won't drag you into their violent elf-dwarf rivalry."

Fenris just gave her a sidelong look, while Varric rested his face in his palm for an instant.

"I'm sorry, what?" The seneschal stared at her like she'd lost her mind.

Come to think of it, where had she put the damned thing? She'd had it in the viscount's office...

Adder waved a hand. "Nevermind. Bad joke. Doesn't matter. The viscount tells me you have information about the missing Qunari?"

Varric sighed. "Just one damn thing after another with them. Can nobody in this town fix their problems anymore?"

Bran shot him a dirty look. Adder waved to get his attention. When he looked over at her, she faked a bright smile.

"Yes, I am to help you. Viscount Dumar would appreciate discretion in this matter. Personally, I would prefer you were not involved at all, but my desires are irrelevant."

Honestly. She'd got involved in one petty Dumar family squabble while just a lowly Fereldan refugee and Bran still hated her for it? Admittedly, she'd ended up calling both the viscount and his son hard-headed, but it had been just that once and three years ago, besides.

This town and priorities. Really.

"Right. Well, where would you start, if you were the starting type?"

Bran gave her a dour stare. "I would begin with the most obvious failure. It's clear the city guard has no excuse for allowing this, unless they were involved."

Aveline's eyes narrowed. "None of my lieutenants have mentioned any of their men failing to report."

What had been righteous irritation was going to flare into righteous wrath, pretty soon. Adder almost looked forward to it — but hopefully it could wait until she'd had two meals and an afternoon's sleep.

Bran drew himself up. "Several have. Though where you'd find a swordsman so eager to sell his honor and duty, I'm sure I don't know."

Fenris and Varric said, at once, "The Hanged Man."

"Got to be," Aveline sighed.

"Right. Then you know what to look for, and where the weak link will be found."

Aveline herded her away from the seneschal. Adder let her.

"Get yourself home now, Hawke. Leandra's probably worried sick."

Her mother. In all the fuss and clamor, she hadn't even thought about letting Mother know where she was.

* * *

" _There_ you are," were the first words out of Leandra Hawke's mouth. "I'd thought you'd gone haring off to Sundermount again."

Adder kept going, breezed through the entrance halls to snag a seat at her writing desk. She folded her legs, rested one foot on one knee, to unlace her boots.

"I had an early day," Adder replied.

Her mother smiled at her. Bodahn brought in a tray laden with a teapot and two cups, saucers. Leandra assembled them on the tea-table.

Adder ignored her mother's busy-work. On another table, cups and saucers clinked, but she ignored it all in favor of untangling the snarl her bootlaces had become. A night of fighting and running and casting magic seemed to have bloody wrecked the knots.

Bodahn laid out scones, next. Fresh from the oven, so fragrant she all but tasted them, even from all the way over there.

Adder inspected her left boot. She tried the knot a few cursory times; fold this line this way, then tug… no, fold that line that way and pull through over here...

It went nowhere. Bodahn set out buttter and jam.

Adder drew her belt knife.

"An early morning, Adder, really, when you know we'll be having the seneschal's son over this week."

That gave her pause. "It's not today, is it?"

But Leandra waved a hand, placating. "No, later in the week. Don't even think of ambling off to the Wounded Coast for some fool request. At least _try_ to stay in Kirkwall until the dinner."

"I promise," Adder replied.

Her mother poured steaming tea in her own mug.

Adder cut her boot laces. She squirmed, massaging her leg, and the muddy, blood-spattered boot hit the front room's new carpet with a _thunk_.

Leandra looked up and over at her at the noise.

"Where have you _been_?"

There was a smoment of silence. Adder debated telling her the truth and not worrying her mother any further; she'd hear about Dirkstreet Hex sooner or later — but did that mean it had to be sooner?

"Out," she said, simply.

"Out where? Doing what? Are the poor servants going to have to clean more blood stains off the carpet?"

"And mud. And probably vomit," Adder said, too tired to fight.

"You've been to that awful tavern in Lowtown!" Leandra gasped. "And it's barely noon!"

Well, best to head that idea off, before her mother started in on Fenris influencing her.

"I wasn't in the Hanged Man, Mother," she said, and sighed. "It wasn't so much as an early morning as a long night. In Dirkstreet Hex. You'll hear about it soon, I'm sure."

Her mother frowned worriedly at her as she collected her boots — one by the laces, the other by the tongue — and hauled herself out of the chair.

* * *

and in the darkness we will walk  
until the day does make us stop  
— Mirah, "(Exactly Where We're From)"


End file.
